


Venezuelan Standoff

by Gallyrat



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-21 02:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gallyrat/pseuds/Gallyrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the Blood Gulch Crew finds themselves in situations that would seem ridiculous to anyone not intimately involved in their creation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Venezuelan Standoff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinstripedoc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinstripedoc/gifts).



Blood Gulch, when you got right down to it, was a pretty simple place. It was a box canyon in the middle of nowhere.

On one side, you had a large base – Blood Gulch Outpost Number One, under the control of the Red team. One the other side was another large base, identical in every way to the first except for the color of the lights decorating the outside. This was Blood Gulch Outpost Alpha, under the control of the Blue Team.

These two teams, each assured that control of the canyon was vital to the larger war effort (despite the fact that there really seemed to be very little evidence of a larger war effort) fought bitterly (both the other team, and their own teammates) to gain total victory. Occasionally, great battles were fought – victories won, and lost, and everything in between. Occasionally, things happened.

This is not one of those times.

_~Roses are Red, Violets are Blue~_

“Isn’t it beautiful Simmons?”

“It sure is, sir.”

Four figures stood behind a large rock outcropping, doing their best to remain hidden. They were looking at a large stone and metal base, complete with glowing blue lights on each side.

Sarge, dressed in officer red, made a movement as if to wipe a tear from his eye before remembering that he had a helmet on and was actually incapable of touching his face with his hand while it remained so. He settled for shaking his head back and forth violently in an attempt to dislodge the single tear from its perch on his lower eyelid. His troops decided it was best to just stay quiet about the whole thing.

“Finally. We’ve got them right where we want them.”

“What, in their base? They’re always in their base. They hardly ever leave the place! We could’ve done this exact same thing any time last week! Or next week! Or the week after that, or the week after that…or never, actually.”

“Simmons, execute order Yankee doodle 4-9-3.”

“Of course sir!” The maroon clad second in command responded, raising his pistol ever so slightly and putting a single round through Griff’s leg.

“Holy fuck!”

"Operation success sir.”

“Excellent work Simmons. I knew I could count on you.” Sarge, once again peeking his head around the rock and studying Blue base for a moment nodded. “All right. It’s time. Let’s get those dirty blue sons of bitches.”

The four men – Sarge, Simmons, Griff, and of course, Donut – each began advancing on Blue base. Were this an actual military operation, their task no doubt would’ve been far more difficult, but as it was, the four of them were able to simply stroll right in, unopposed by anything except their own self doubt (which, while a formidable adversary, was nothing next to the fear of Sarge’s wrath).

“Keep your ears peeled men.” Sarge’s voice was a hoarse imitation of a whisper that was somehow even louder than his normal speaking voice. “Blues are masters at the art of stealth and trickery! They could be hiding in the shadows right this very moment, watching us like disgustingly colored ninjas!”

“Isn’t it just ninja?”

"God-dammit Grif, we don't have time for your ridiculous word shenanigans!"

**“Okay, what the fuck do we have here.”**

The voice was mechanical, but also distinctly female, and it was at about that moment that Griff and Simmons both became very thankful that their armor’s built in waste removal systems were presumably working.

“Oh boy.”

“Sarge, it’s-”

“I know who it is, dang’nabbit! Men! Battle positions Alpha-Theta-One!”

Donut promptly shot Griff in the foot. 

“Holy fuck!”

**“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”**

Agent Texas, known in a previous life as Allison, was one of the most single dangerous people known to the UNSC, behind [NAME CLASSIFIED], [NAME CLASSIFIED], [NAME CLASSIFIED], [NAME CLASSIFIED], [NAME CLASSIFIED], [NAME CLASSIFIED], [NAME CLASSIFIED], and of course, [NAME CLASSIFIED]. Her reputation alone had sent men running for their lives – brave soldiers, hardened pirates and fellow super soldiers knew one thing.

Don’t mess with Tex.

Sarge knew that you don’t mess with Tex, but he didn’t much give a shit. He had a shotgun leveled at her chest, an orange meat shield a few feet behind him, and he was ready to end this stinkin’ war once and for all. 

“Put. The gun. Down Blue.” He spat after saying “blue”, for added emphasis. It hit the inside of his helmet in a very un-emphasizing fashion. 

**“Or what, you’ll shoot me?”**

“No,” Sarge said, nodding to his subordinates behind him. “They will.”

“Wait, what?”

“Uh…”

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna have to pass on shooting the crazy angry super soldier. Oh wow, is that all my blood?”

“Fuckin' pansies.”

**“Well, you know what they say,”** Tex said, her pistol still pointed firmly at Sarge’s face. **“If you want something done right, do it yourself.”**

“I don’t hit girls. Or shoot them.”

Tex shrugged. **“Alright then.”** There was the distinctive click-clack of a gun being cocked.

“WAITIFYOUSHOOTHIMI’LLSHOOTYOUISWEARTOGOD!”

**“Give me a fucking break,”** Tex said, turning to face Simmons. The red team’s second in command was standing a few feet away from her, assault rifle at the ready – and though Simmons wasn’t exactly what one would consider a good shot by any means, it would be pretty damn hard to miss from that range.

Tex’s gun however, stayed firmly pointed at Sarge. **“I can already tell this is going to be harder than it needs to.”**

“Bow-chicka-bow-wow.”

**“Of course.”**

The second member of the blue team stepped into play in the form of Private First Class Lavernius Tucker. The aquamarine greenish-blue turquoise whatever-the-hell-his-color-was clad soldier had his own pistol drawn and leveled at Simmons’ head.

**“What, you forget your sword?”**

“Oh don’t worry babe. I’ve always got a sword on me. And it is ready to go, let me tell you. Bow-chicka-bow-wow.”

“Dude, gross.”

“Your sister didn’t think it was gross!”

“Yes I did!” Came ringing down the hall a moment later.

“Okay, so maybe she did a little bit. Who cares? I’ve got a gun pointed at your nerd buddy’s head and if he so much as breathes at the pretty lady over there I’m gonna pop a cap in his ass.”

There was an audible inhaling noise from Simmons’ direction.

“Oh no you don’t!” Sarge shouted, turning to face Tucker with his shotgun. “You can threaten Griff all you like. Hell, maybe even Donut. But the minute you threaten Simmons, I draw the line.”

“Sir, I didn’t…didn’t real-”

“Who else will make my coffee every morning, just the way I like it? Griff won’t even get out of bed before noon! And Donut isn’t allowed in the kitchen anymore.”

“But Sarge! It just has such a bad atmosphere! I promise, a little Donut feng shui magic will have that dusty old thing feeling good as new again! Just think of all the stress it could relieve!”

"Can it Donut, on the double! I can't shoot the teal one while the black one's got a gun on me!"

"But I- oh, shit, you mean Tex. Right."

"No problem Sarge! I'm an expert at covering guys!" Donut said, raising his gun to Tucker."Bow-chicka-do-nut!"

"Holy shit, are they in our base now? God- _damn_ you guys are like fucking roaches or something!" Church shouted, stepping into the main room with his sniper rifle in hand.  "Oh, and by the way Donut, I wouldn't suggest pulling that trigger. I've got your little pink-

"Lightish-red."

"-Head in my sites and as much as I hate Tucker I think I'm contractually obligated to try and avenge him."

"Wait, can we get…" Griff panted, dropping down to one knee and breathing heavily while checking the wound on his leg. "Can we take five or something? Just let me…catch…my breath

"Absolutely not! You stop slacking and point your gun at somebody right now!"

"But what is that even going to _accomplish_?"

"I’ll tell you what it’s going to accomplish! You not getting shot! Again. By me at least. No promises about the blues."

Griff moaned, reluctantly leveling his own weapon at Church. 

"Ha! See this blues? We have the tactical advantage! All of your team has a gun pointed at them, but Griff here is still free to fire! As the rightful victors of this conflict, I believe it is within our rights to demand some concessions!"

"Wait, what about-"

"Are we playing a game?! I want to play a game too!"

"Well, shit on a biscuit."

"Yes! Caboose! For once in your life, you’re about to be useful for something! All I need you to do is point your gun at the yellow guy."

"Seriously, what the hell? I’m orange! Fucking _orange_! It’s really not that hard."

"No," Caboose said, raising his weapon towards Griff. "The girl is the orange one."

"Alright, that’s it, I’m dropping it. And holy shit, if you’re the one that kills me, I’m going to have some serious complaints for the man upstairs."

"Ha! Fuck you reds! You’ve just been outmaneuvered by the biggest retard in a canyon full of retards!"

"Look, this really doesn’t change that much – Sarge will just cover Caboose to make sure he doesn’t shoot me. Right Sarge?"

Sarge said nothing.

"Oh. My God. You cannot be serious."

"Sarge, as second in command, I feel that it is regretfully my duty to inform you that if you let Donut shoot Griff, the blues are going to kill us all."

"Dammit Simmons you think I don’t know that? This is one of the most difficult decisions I’ve ever had to make during my time in the military…possibly my entire life."

"You would seriously doom yourself and our entire team to death just to kill me?"

"This must be where that old saying comes from. I’ve found myself caught between a Griff and blue place."

“Okay, at first this was pretty funny, but now it’s just kind of sad. Church, promise me we’ll never be like this.”

“Don’t worry Tucker. If the chance were given, I’d let them kill you without a second thought. It’s just if they did that now…well, Tex would be in danger too.”

**“I can handle myself, thanks.”**

"Alright! I’ve made up my mind!" Sarge snapped, raising his signature shotgun until it was pointed solidly at Caboose’s head. "Seems you won’t be winning the day after all, you filthy blue scum."

The eight Blood Gulch soldiers now found themselves at an impasse. Tex couldn’t fire without being shot by Simmons, who would be shot by Tucker, who would be shot by Donut, who would be shot by Church, who would be shot by Griff, who would be shot by Caboose, who would be shot by Sarge, who would be shot by Tex.

"Looks like what we’ve got here is a good ole Venezuelan standoff. "

“What the hell is a Venezualan standoff?”

“I’m pretty sure I was in one once, but it wasn’t anything like this. First of all, there were fewer clothes and guns. And more whips.”

“No, that’s a Reverse Dominican Moonlanding Party!” Came Sister’s voice. 

"How do you _know_ that?!"

“Who gives a shit?! Why aren’t you out here, helping us clean up this mess?!” Church shouted. 

“The door is locked and I don’t know how to open it!”

“I’ll open her lock, no problem. Bow-chicka-bow-wow.”

"Dude, seriously?"

**“Tucker, if you talk again I swear to God I will shoot you.”**

“Shutting up now.” 

Several minutes passed in complete silence, neither team daring to make a move for fear of a bullet getting in the way. Griff might’ve fallen asleep once or twice. It was difficult to tell.

“So uh…are we just gonna sit here all day?”  Tucker asked, apparently having forgotten Tex’s earlier promise to murder him if he continued to speak. She gave him the evil eye, which was noticeably less effective than she might’ve hoped due to the face concealing helmet, along with the fact that she didn’t technically have eyes – she had “video receival ports” that would occasionally start playing re-runs of “My Little Pony” for no discernable reason. 

“Nah. These guys will get bored soon, and we can go back to sitting around doing nothing.” 

“Uh-huh. And how long is this going to take, roughly, would you say?” 

“What? I don’t fucking know, why are you asking me? And why the fuck do you care in the first place?”

“I mean, it’s no big deal I guess, except no, it’s kind of a huge fucking deal see, because the Victoria’s Secret fashion show starts in like, twenty minutes, and if I miss that I have to forfeit my manhood.”

**“Oh, so you shouldn’t have anything to worry about then. Because I’m going to shoot your balls off the minute Maroon McWetsHimself over here stops pointing his gun at my face.”**

“Who are you calling – oh shit, my waste removal system.”

“This might be a good time to mention that I had to remove that in order to build Lopez a new foot.”

And that’s when the laughter started, and things pretty much devolved from there. 

At first glance, it seems miraculous that nobody was shot in the ensuing scuffle (which was truly of epic proportions). It becomes less miraculous when one realizes that: 1) It had been Griff’s day to load Red Team’s weapons (which he had not, because there had been an unopened jar of mayonnaise in the fridge that had demanded his attention), 2) that Church actually tried to shoot Sarge several times, never getting a bullet any closer than ten feet from his target, 3) that Caboose had loaded his weapon with silly string, 4) that Tucker wasn’t going to risk a shot accidentally damaging the television so close to the Victoria’s Secret show, and 5) that Tex knew she could kill everyone in the room but figured she was too close to her next paycheck to bother.

The terms of surrender were lengthy and complicated, and involved Sarge reciting a Caboose written “Blues R Grate” poem three times aloud, parts to repair Simmons’ waste removal system, the Reds fixing the Blues’ cable, and the ownership of Tucker’s firstborn (human) child.

The compromises left both teams upset, but with very little to actually do about it. The Reds returned to their base, deciding that this “Venezuelan Standoff” business was much more trouble than it was worth, and that the next plan would be much simpler. Perhaps something with zip-lines.

_~It’s I against I and me against you~_


End file.
